


The Weight of Our Demons

by rookmyfanwy



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rookmyfanwy/pseuds/rookmyfanwy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are destined for this. Meeting and loving, dying and repeating. It's an endless cycle of misery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of Our Demons

 

_"I am certain that I have been here as I am now a thousand times before,_

_and I hope to return a thousand times."  
_

_\- Goethe_

_"Our lives are not our own._

_We are bound to others, past and present,_

_and by each crime and every kindness,_

_we birth our future."_

_\- David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas_

_"For once, Gaius, you can stop manipulating the world and let destiny take its course._

_If there's one thing we know about human beings with certainty: they are masters of self-destruction."_

_-Virtual Six, Battlestar Galactica_

_The queen waits._

_She's not sure why._

_There had been a Deal made long ago, with promises of Happiness and Love._

_Something was said about Forever._

_She doesn't remember it now._

_But she knows that a part of her is missing. Something important._

_She just has to wait for it to come back._

_So she remains, hoping for the return of what she's lost._

* * *

"How long?"

The response is instantaneous: "Three months, twenty one days, four hours and seventeen minutes."

There's a sigh, and the clearly worn down man removes his glasses. He sets them down on the table gently, as if they were incredibly precious. As if he knows what something truly precious is.

"Regina..." he begins, "You can't hold on to him forever. It's unhealthy. I will admit, however, you have progressed far past where you were two months ago."

The woman's jaw tightens. Teeth mash against teeth. Her hand grasps the ring on the necklace under her shirt, the metal warm from where it lays against her skin. She says nothing.

Dr. Hopper continues, "You have to let go. You can't let this grief consume you."

"Let go?" she croaks incredulously, her voice hoarse from disuse. The gravelly tone softens what is supposed to be a vicious snap. She is about to continue- full of fake anger and emotion- but Regina's watch ticks.

_Three months, twenty one days, four hours, and eighteen minutes._

A part of her dies.

Everything in her wants to join her husband.

She would do anything to hear his laugh, see his smile, have him say _"I love you more than the tides love the moon"_ for the millionth time...

"Regina," the good doctor calls, pulling her back. He has a knack for knowing when she's gone. "I have an idea that might help."

The woman she was would have yelled at him for trying to make her forget. The woman she is simply nods, too broken to offer any resistance.

"I'm sure you do," she replies dully. Some days she wishes for her anger. At least she would feel something other than sadness. The hole in her chest wouldn't feel quite so barren.

Dr. Hopper adjusts his glasses ( _when did he put them back on?_ ) and elaborates, "It's group counseling. I think it may be good for you to see you aren't really alone. There are others who will support you, and are going through similar situations."

"Are you trying to trivialize my loss? I'm just one in a sea of many? One widow isn't important in the grand scheme of things?" Regina spits hollowly. A part of her appreciates the tone. It almost sounds like her old self.

"Of course not," the doctor says emphatically. He leans forward, eyes earnest and kind. "I just think this will help with the grieving process."

"Do I have a choice?" she snaps with mild irritation.

_Three months, twenty one days, four hours, and nineteen minutes._

_The watch ticks on._

"You always have a choice, Regina. Even when it seems like you don't," he replies, sounding wise beyond his years.

The phrase was a favorite of her mother. It always meant she had no choice.

She flinches and waits for the pain associated with thinking of her mother. Instead there is nothing. Nothing at all.

Maybe the therapy is working after all.

"I suppose I could try to go," she relents.

Dr. Hopper smiles, the old age being replaced by youth. Strangely, both seem to suit him. "Excellent! Let me give you the information."

As he writes down the time and place, she glances at her watch. Another minute.

_Three months, twenty one days, four hours, and twenty minutes._

He hands her the paper, she gives a fake smile, and then she leaves the office. The winter chill seeps through her clothes and into her bones. Once she's in her Benz, she lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Her shoulders sag from the effort it takes to look normal. She just wants to lay in her bed and not move, not think, not feel.

Reluctantly pulling out the information, she sees the meeting is tonight at eight. It's at some place she's never heard of.

At the very bottom there is a note from Dr. Hopper:

_Be nice. Meet people. Open up. Support comes from others, not yourself. You have to trust people._

_-AH_

"Easier said than done, Dr. Hopper," Regina mutters to herself. She puts the car in drive and goes home to her empty house.

_Three months, twenty one days, four hours, and twenty one minutes._

This is going to be a waste of time.

* * *

The meeting is downtown in a community center. The air inside is stuffy and serves to worsen Regina's mood. The walls are too close and she can feel her throat closing. Her current company isn't helping matters.

She'd arrived early out of habit, and found herself swarmed by two polite, kind ladies that asked all sorts of gently prying questions. Each response was treated as a treasure, even if it was about the dismal weather outside. They were the kind of bleeding hearts that make her sick.

The one named Mary Margaret (their name tags only revealed their first names- her own is an understated "Regina") is especially empathetic. Regina finds her particularly repulsive. The other woman, Belle, is barely more tolerable. They're suffocating her.

"Ah, you must be the Regina Dr. Hopper told us about!" Mary Margaret exclaims after Regina's curt recitation of why she was attending.

"Am I?" Regina intones. She crosses her arms and puts on her best disinterested face. If she were her old self, she would be raging at how untrustworthy people are. Now she can't bring herself to care. Dr. Hopper could post her sessions on a billboard and she wouldn't bat an eye.

The insipid brunette doesn't catch her sarcasm. "Yes! It's been good things, I promise." Belle nods along enthusiastically.

The corner of her lips twist into a frown. "There's no need to lie, my dear. I'm only bad news, and I know it."

Mary Margaret seems a little speechless after that, and Regina seizes the moment to leave.

"I'm going to get some fresh air." she declares.

Belle picks up the idiot's slack, "Of course. The door is behind you to the left. Remember the meeting starts in..." she checks her watch,"...six minutes!"

Regina simply nods, striding over to the door and walking out outside into the cold. Taking a deep breath, the fresh air loosens her throat. The watch on her wrist weighs her down.

_Three months, twenty one days, ten hours, and fifty five minutes._

She tries to remember the last thing Daniel said to her. Was it "love you, Regina" of "have a nice day, honey?" She's forgotten. Her throat closes up again.

A voice startles her out of her reverie. "Nothing like savoring some fresh air before a heart to heart."

Regina turns to her left, finding a young blonde woman standing next to her. She's attractive and youthful, her cheeks a lovely shade of red from the cold. Her breath puffs out in delightful little clouds.

"Chest pains?" the woman asks. Her lips savor every word, but her ocean blue eyes seem pained.

"Pardon?"

The blonde gestures to her hand and its death grip on the ring. "You're clutching your chest."

She hadn't even noticed. Regina uncurls her fingers, letting the ring fall back to her chest."Oh, no. No chest pains." She falls silent, suddenly uncomfortable at the pretty blonde's presence.

The blonde lapses into silence with her. She nestles into her scarf and pushes her hands deep into her pockets. They stand for awhile, staring at the cars that speed by.

Regina takes the opportunity to glance at the blonde. Despite the cold, she's wearing an unflattering red leather jacket and particularly flattering skinny jeans with boots. Her unruly curls flow down her shoulder and flutter in the light breeze. Despite the peacefulness of the moment, she's bouncing on her feet. Whether from the cold or discomfort, Regina isn't sure. The woman reminds her of a bird about to fly.

"I used to get them," the blonde says, breaking the silence. "Chest pains, I mean. My doctor gave me some bullshit explanation about grief manifesting physically or whatever. I thought it was total bullshit."

Regina scoffs. She'd heard something similar from Dr. Hopper. There was a time when she couldn't walk out of the house without getting a headache. He tried to psychoanalyze it away, but the only thing that worked was pain pills. Dr. Hopper had been puzzled by their existence and demise. It's a sore point in their therapy history.

"I'm Emma, by the way. Emma Swan," the blonde continues. She turns to Regina and offers a hand.

The brunette takes it, offering a subdued, "Regina." She makes extra effort to remember the blonde's name. She hasn't been able to process new information well lately. The apathetic side that has taken over her doesn't care for new experiences.

Emma smiles then, momentarily stunning Regina. "Come on, Regina," Emma jerks her head toward the door, "Let's get inside before MM chases after us. Then the true torture begins."

"MM... ?" she queries.

"Mary Margaret, our resident do-gooder and therapist extraordinaire." The titles drip with affectionate sarcasm, and Regina finds the corners of her lips curling upward without her permission.

It's foreign. It's unnatural. It's wonderful.

They head back to the door and find the meeting already beginning. She checks her watch.

_Three months, twenty one days, and eleven hours._

She had missed five minutes.

* * *

The rest of the meeting goes predictably. Every member shares the source of their grief, and then blathers about thoughts and feelings. She'd been distracted by Emma the whole time. The blonde sat right next to her and wrote satirical notes on her membership page. There was a mildly amusing caricature of Mary Margaret as Bambi's mom. Thirty minutes tick by before she's addressed.

"As you all may have noticed, we have a new member tonight! Everybody, this is Regina!" Belle says with her perky accent.

"Hi, Regina," the other participants chorus. The two leaders look incredibly pleased with the response.

Mary Margaret chimes, "Why don't you tell us about what's happened? Sharing the pain can make it easier."

Regina coughs, sitting up straighter in her chair. The circle allows for every member to see each other- a fact she's now uncomfortably aware of. They are sitting in silence, waiting for her story. It's so quiet you can hear the tick of the clock in the far corner.

"Pass." She swallows thickly and leans back in her chair. A small pang of guilt flashes through her. Regina can imagine Dr. Hopper shaking his head in disappointment.

The image unnerves her more than she would like.

The duo look a bit sad at her dismissal, but nod and move on. It is a voluntary process. "Emma? How are things going this week?"

Her eyes snap to the blonde. She was a cheerful and kind woman; Regina's been itching to know why she's attending.

Emma sighs and leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "It's been almost year, now. Since Henry- my son- died."

The group all share their sympathies. The woman sitting left of Emma places a hand on her shoulder, murmuring some encouragement. Regina sits frozen in shock. Emma had been a mother? She was so young!

"Thanks, guys. I've been missing him a lot recently. He would've been eight next week. I think I'm going to buy a gift or something. Give it to someone who needs it. To honor him or something, y'know?" she continues awkwardly. A barely noticeable tremor runs through her.

"That's wonderful, Emma!" Mary Margaret exclaims. The group agrees. Emma slouches back into her seat, glancing at Regina. She shoots her a small smile, as if Regina is the one who needs comforting.

"That's all for today," Belle concludes, "Think about what we've learned today. We hope to see each of you next week! And remember, you aren't alone."

Everybody stands up and groups off. Regulars ask more questions about each others lives, and make normal small talk. Emma is sucked into a group with Mary Margaret. She's chatting amiably with a younger brunette whose clothes are barely appropriate for the occasion.

The brunette twists the watch on her wrist.

_Three months, twenty one days, eleven hours, and forty three minutes._

She sighs and heads toward the door. Dr. Hopper will be disappointed that she didn't learn anything from the experience, but she doesn't care. It just makes therapy sessions more tedious. Nothing she hasn't handled before.

The air is colder than before, and the cars less numerous. She can spy a TV in an apartment whose news station is predicting snow.

"Hey, Regina!" A voice calls. She turns, keys in hand. It's Emma.

"Yes?" she asks, a brow arched.

The blonde jogs over, her curls bouncing in the wind. "Are you doing anything to tonight?" she breathlessly asks.

And because Regina can never take things at face value she says, "Perhaps. I'm a busy woman. Why do you ask?"

"There's this great bar a block from here. Want to grab a drink?" Emma looks so vulnerable asking. It's endearing.

Regina checks her watch for show- she knows the time by heart. "Sure, it's not too late."

"Have a bedtime?" the blonde teases.

"Just standards," Regina tosses back.

* * *

The bar is cozy, if not quite as classy as she is used to. It doesn't stop her from getting heavily intoxicated, and it certainly didn't stop Emma from joining her.

"You're shitting me. A millionaire?" Emma repeats. Her beer tilts dangerously in her hand; the man next to her leans away as it swings toward him.

"Yes, dear," Regina slurs slightly, "A... generous individual willed it to me." She leaves out how that individual is her husband. The brunette downs the rest of her bourbon in a single gulp.

"Wow." Emma looks supremely impressed. Whether it's because of her alcohol consumption or millionaire status, Regina isn't sure.

"That must be nice. What do you do for work?" Emma takes another sip of her whiskey. Seeing Regina's empty glass, she flags down the bartender for a refill.

Regina swallows uncomfortably. "I'm a photojournalist. I'm actually not sure if I'm still employed. It's been a while since I've picked up a camera. Or been to work..."

"Ah, I see." It's Emma's turn to be uncomfortable.

The brunette turns on her stool. "Enough about me. What do you do?"

Emma laughs, tugging on her leather jacket's sleeve. "Well, your millionare-ness, you're looking at New York's best bounty hunter."

"Best? I doubt that," Regina challenges.

The blonde sits up a little straighter, clearly affronted. "It's true!"

"Prove it!"

"What, you want me to tackle some perp right now? I'm not like Spiderman, I don't have spidey-senses!"

"So, you're all talk and no action. That's what I'm hearing. Excuse after excuse."

Emma huffs indignantly. "Fine. Heard of the big embezzlement scheme that happened at Muhler-Bernstein?"

The case is old enough that Regina remembers. The scandal had blown up a month or two before Daniel... "Yes," she answers curtly. Emma doesn't notice her tone.

"Well, the guy- named something pretentious like Vincent or Benedict- ran. Only he was damn good at covering his tracks. Took me two months and my favorite motorcycle to corner him," Emma chuckles suddenly, drinking.

"What's so funny? Did he try to bribe his way out? Pathetically offer you a penthouse with a view?"

"Yeah, of course. He pleaded and begged for me to 'show mercy.' Like he was some animal. It was pathetic." The blonde sets the tumbler down, and locks gazes with Regina, "Made me realize we're all pretty similar in the end."

Blue eyes stormily challenge her. They dare her to deny what she's said.

Regina opens her mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. Emma smirks in victory. It reminds her of her old self, in a way: arrogant and brash.

_We are all pretty similar, indeed._ Regina muses.  _Where's my bourbon?_

"So, Regina... I've been meaning to ask..." Emma warily trails off.

Regina almost laughs at her hesitance. "Ask, dear. That's the point of the alcohol." The bartender chooses that moment to appear, handing her another full glass.

"How did you lose your husband?" the blonde blurts. Regina blinks.

"How did you know it was my husband?"

Emma sighs like it's obvious. "The ring."

Ah, yes. The ring. His ring. She sips on the bourbon for courage, her watch clinking on the counter as she sets the tumbler down. Her hand moves to the necklace unconsciously.

"Car accident." She spits. Something so mundane had no right to take her husband's life. "He was driving home from an out of town meeting in Vermont. He wanted to get back early to surprise me, so he took a more dangerous road." She smiles sadly. Daniel was always sweet: little gifts at random moments, sudden dates, surprise food. It was why she loved him.

_Loves_ him. She corrects mentally.  _Loves._

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she continues, "It rides along the shoreline of a lake. There was a bad thunderstorm and there was a truck with faulty breaks," she shrugs, spinning the tumbler between her hands. "I'm sure you can figure out the rest."

She looks anywhere but Emma's face.

"That's shit," Emma grouses.

Something that's most definitely like anger flits through Regina, "Excuse me!?"

"What a crap way to go," the blonde elaborates, hands gesticulating wildly. Whiskey splashes on the counter. "He was going to surprise you! Why the hell did he have to die?"

Regina stops twisting the tumbler, locking eyes with Emma. "That's where you're wrong. He's not dead. Not really."

Emma's alcohol addled mind takes several seconds to respond. "I'm sorry, what? Why the grief counseling, then? Why the  _grief_?"

"Just because he's not dead doesn't mean he's alive," Regina snaps. She knew this was a bad idea. How could Emma understand? "Grief isn't something reserved for the deceased."

Emma's face puckers as she mulls the contradicting statements over. After a few seconds, her eyes grow wide in understanding. "Coma?"

Regina can't say anything past the growing lump in her throat. She just nods.

But this woman deserves the whole truth. What she's only told one other person. Emma blurs as tears form in her eyes.

"And that's not all," she chokes. "H-he's... His limit is four m-months with no response. It's what he w-wanted. His wishes."

"Oh God..." Emma mutters. A hand reaches out and catches a stray tear. The warmth is surprising. She leans into the touch, craving comfort.

Then the blonde asks the million dollar question. "How long?"

Regina doesn't even have to look down. "Three months, twenty one days, fourteen hours, and nine minutes. That's how long he's been gone. _"_

She breaks then, red-faced and sobbing. Emma hugs her awkwardly. Regina finds herself clinging on to the blonde for dear life, terrified she'll drown in her sorrow if she doesn't. Emma waits until her sobs have turned into hitched gasps before she asks if she wants to go back to her apartment. Regina remembers saying yes and drinking one last shot to numb the pain. The rest of the night happens in patches.

She doesn't recall the cab ride, but she remembers standing in front of Emma's apartment complex. She's thinking of just how lovely the blonde looks in the lights of the city. Her cheeks have regained that appealing rosy hue. Her lips are a bright red, luring the brunette closer as she talks.

"Regina?" Emma asks suddenly, the alcohol in her system seemingly burned off.

The woman in question is mesmerized. She steps closer to the blonde- so close she can feel the warmth of the breath puffing from Emma. "Hmm?" she responds distractedly.

"I don't know if... I mean... I don't want this to be a drunken regret for you," the blonde whispers uncomfortably. She runs a hand through her silken locks, mussing them slightly. It makes Regina's mouth water. "I've had plenty of those, but I think I really like you. I don't want that to happen with this. We've just met and-"

Regina surges forward, shutting her up with a kiss. It's warm and sweet, sparking something inside the brunette. She pulls back a little, staring into Emma's eyes. They've darkened in desire.

The brunette smirks. "It's hardly a regret if I've been imagining it since the moment I met you."

Emma closes the gap this time. Regina deepens the kiss, fighting for dominance. Lips move against lips. The blonde's hands are tangled in her hair. Her very presence intoxicates Regina. Regina hums, running her hands down Emma's body.

Time skips again.

They thump into a wall outside the blonde's apartment, a tangle of lips and teeth and hands. Regina slips a hand down Emma's pants, cupping her. The blonde moans, moving into the touch.

Emma is the voice of reason. "I think we should move this inside," she says breathily between kisses.

Regina nods in agreement, kissing a line down Emma's neck. She's addicted to the taste of the blonde. Sucking an earlobe into her mouth, she smiles at Emma's gasp. The blonde's hands fumble for her keys.

"Flustered, dear?" Regina whispers into her ear.

Emma chuckles darkly, "You have  _no_  idea."

Somehow they end up on Emma's bed. Naked. Every touch is like a shock to their system, purging any effects from the alcohol. Their hands explore each other. Every curve and dip is mapped, completing the picture they never knew they'd been missing.

Emma's wandering hand moves lower and lower. Regina quakes with need.

"Please," she whimpers.

The blonde takes a moment to look into her eyes, a tiny grin on her face.

"Please what?" she teases, a finger slowly dipping into the other woman's wetness teasingly before retreating.

Regina almost cries, "Touch me! Please, Emma."

And when she complies, Regina feels  _whole._

* * *

She wakes up with a major headache. Everything after the fifth round of drinks is a haze of alcohol, tears, and two rounds of mind-blowing sex. She's pleased to find that she can remember most of the more... physical activities of the night prior.

Stretching her arm out to Emma's side of the bed, she's surprised to find it empty.

Sunlight filters through the shades, intense enough for her to realize it's late in the morning. The brunette sits up fully, clutching the bed sheet to her chest. She's not in the room either.

"Emma?" Regina calls. When she doesn't hear an answer, she stands up unsteadily. The room pitches and then stills.

She spots her pants in the corner, a shirt on the dresser, but her underwear is conspicuously absent. Sighing, Regina walks over to the shirt and shrugs it on. It barely covers her ass, but it'll have to do.

"Emma?" she repeats, padding into the hallway. The walls are bare and a soulless white except for a single frame. She pauses in front of it, taking in the bold letting of anearly edition Daredevil.

Continuing down the hall, she peers into the rooms she passes- kitchen, living room, even the bathroom are all empty. Each room gives Regina the impression that the place isn't really lived in. Everything looks unused and dusty.

She walks to the last door. There's only one room left in the whole place and she's no fool.

It's Henry's.

She knocks hesitantly, uneasy about entering if the blonde isn't in there.

"Come in," is barely audible. Head full of a child's toys and clothes, Regina takes a deep breath and opens the door.

The room is... surprising.

Where the rest of the apartment seemed barely used, this room is empty. No furniture, no carpet, nothing in the room except for a naked, teary blonde and the cardboard box next to her.

"Hi," Emma says. She gives a sheepish smile and tucks something back into the box. It looks like a comic book.

"Hello," Regina responds, leaning on the doorway. "Do you always come in here after sex, or am I the exception?"

Emma deigns not to answer, and instead stands on shaky legs. Her knees pop from disuse and she stretches a bit, back arching in the most delightful manner.

It takes tremendous willpower not to pounce on her right there. "Have you been here all night?" she asks as Emma's elbows pop.

"Would you believe me if I said no?" She stoops and picks up the box, tucking in into an empty closet.

"Not for a moment."

Emma walks over to her, eyes raking up and down her form. "You look good like this," she states with a smile. Her hands come up and play with the collar of her shirt.

Regina cocks an eyebrow, "Like what?"

"In my shirt and," Emma brings one of her hands down, flipping the watch around Regina's wrist. "And not sad," she finishes with a shrug.

It's then that Regina knows the blonde. In that instant, they've met. They've known each other for years and years, growing into each other lives. Loving each other. They complete each other.

The moment passes, and Regina feels a hollow sense of loss.

She shakes her head to rid the strange feeling. She doesn't know Emma, not really. She lifts her watch hand, and the strangest expression flits across Emma's face.

"Don't," Emma pleads. She lifts Regina's chin away from her wrist forcing her to meet sad blue eyes. "Don't leave. Not yet."

"I'm not going anywhere," she replied, puzzled. She glances down at the watch.

_Three months, twenty two days, four hours, and twelve minutes._

Emma just smiles in return, looking so forlorn. Something twists in Regina's gut at the expression. She grasps the blonde's hand. "I'm not going anywhere," she repeats emphatically.

Emma looks stares at her, searching her gaze for something she can't define.

"Come on, I'll cook you breakfast," she says simply, breaking their impromptu staring contest.

When she walks past Regina, the brunette can't help but think Emma was disappointed by what she found.

* * *

They don't see each other for six days. Part of Regina misses the blonde terribly, while the other longs for Daniel. When she's not at her therapy sessions, she's pacing in her study or listening to loud classical music.

Anything to drown out the tick of her watch.

_It's been t_ _hree months, t_ _wenty eight_ _days,_ _three_ _hours, and_   _one_ _minute._

But it's also been six days, two hours, and fourteen minutes.

It occurs to her she's actually going crazy. After all, what sane person counts every second of every hour of every day?

Dr. Hopper is oblivious to her new countdown. He focuses on her grief, not on her hope.

"How long?" he asks, as he does every session.

"Three months, twenty eight days, seventeen hours, and two minutes," she rattles off.

_Six days, two hours, and fifteen minutes._

She's being torn apart.

He simply nods, scribbling something on his notepad. After a moment he folds his hands over one another. Regina recognizes this pose. It's reserved for more painful conversations.

"How do you feel about tomorrow?" he probes.

"Nothing. I feel nothing," she responds.

"Nothing?" he repeats, eyebrows rising behind his glasses.

"No, not nothing," she pauses for a moment, searching for the right word. "Resigned."

"Resigned," he parrots. She has to restrain an eye roll.

"Yes," she replies curtly.

He tilts his head, curious. "Why?"

A sharp bark of laughter escapes her. "Isn't that your job to figure out?"

"I'm sorry, let me rephrase the question. Why do you feel resigned now, when just last week you were nearly inconsolable?"

Images of blonde hair and sad blue eyes come to her unbidden.

"I don't know," she lies smoothly.

Dr. Hopper chuckles a bit. "I know you better than that. Don't try to lie to me. Was it group therapy?"

For a moment, she considers telling him everything. "Perhaps," is all she allows.

"If you would like, there's another meeting tonight. It's at the same time and place," he offers gently, "I would highly encourage you visit, especially considering tomorrow."

"I'll think about it."

He smiles, taking her dismissal as a yes. She watches him scribble more notes down.

"Doctor Hopper?" she asks hesitantly. His hand stops moving and he looks up at her in surprise. It's the first time she's spoken when not prodded.

"Yes, Regina?"

"Thank you."

The grin she receives is blinding. "You're welcome!"

Part of her revels in the ability to make someone that happy.

* * *

She's still pleased with herself when she parks in front the community center a few hours later.

Excitement bubbles up inside of her as she sees the flash of blonde hair entering the building.

She's halfway out of her car when she's sees the truck. It's driving too fast and too close to the parked cars for her to escape.

There's not even time to breathe before it hits her.

Blinding pain engulfs her, and she faintly hears a sickening crunch.

An inhuman scream rings in her skull.

The world is a whirl of color and hurt. The kaleidoscope of sight stops suddenly, and it dimly registers she's laying on her back.

There's blood in her mouth. It gags her. She tries to move her legs, but searing pain shoots up her spine.

"Regina!" someone shrieks. "REGINA!"

Don't worry, she wants to say. It'll be okay. Look at the sky. It's a beautiful shade of navy blue.

"Regina!" the voice is louder now. She can recognize it.

Blonde hair obscures her vision before she meets petrified blue eyes. "No no no..." Emma's murmuring desperately. "Regina, please! I just found you!"

She brings her hand up, gritting her teeth against the pain. Red appears on Emma's face wherever she touches. Emma's tears mix with her blood.

"Wherever you go, I'll follow," Emma promises, choking on a sob.

"I know," Regina gasps. The edges of her sight dim.

Regina remembers. They are destined for this. Meeting and loving, dying and repeating. It's an endless cycle of misery.

"I love you," Emma presses a kiss, feather light, onto her brow.

Regina hopes Emma hears the strangled breath she releases for what it is.

I love you too.

She doesn't really hurt anymore. As her hand slackens and the light begins to fade, she spies her watch.

It's frozen.

_Damn watch never worked,_ she realizes.

She almost laughs as the world becomes a pinpoint,

and then she's

sinking down

and down

into

nothing

at

all

.


End file.
